


Matchmaker, Matchmaker

by ChloeWinchester



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, johniarty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-01 10:45:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2770163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChloeWinchester/pseuds/ChloeWinchester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Young John doesn’t want to be a blacksmith, he’d much rather be a soldier. So when he’s summoned to the castle of the elusive, dark king he expects a military summons. What he gets is entirely different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

The castle was black and loomed over the village, towering so high and inside it was said to hold a king both mad and dangerous.

John had heard those stories. And the King never ventured from the castle where the villagers could see, only in the dead of night when only monsters dared to whisper in the darkness that always surrounded this place.

So therefore it was assumed that their King must be a monster too, a wicked man who did wicked things in his black castle where no one could see. No other people who lived there but the servants and the King’s Guard. All of his advisors were thrown out and forced find work and a home elsewhere, the rooms ringing empty of nearly all life.

When John was just a boy, all covered in soot and dirt looking up at the castle just outside the little cottage in which he lived, he thought he saw another boy on the balcony outside the castle. The prince, pale and leaning on the rail. Sometimes John thought he heard him crying. If not for his parents being so near he might’ve called out to the prince and asked what was wrong. Instead he could only watch and wonder.

Once, the young prince had looked up, and John had sworn he’d looked right at him before running back inside.

John was older now, a young  man stacked with muscle under golden skin, smiling and ready to be sent off to war. His father had told him just this morning between drunken beatings that he was to do a great service to the King today and John knew what it must be. War, battle, the chance to bring victory to the kingdom and his name.

He looked up from the forge, the heat distorting the castle above him, and he was smeared with soot and grease from the fires itself. The black castle, the spider crest blazing on each flag and emblem that embellished it. Fifth from the right, second level, he made that one. There were more he made up there, sure but that one, that one he knew he made. Soon he might be holding one of his own shields in the face of enemies, and perhaps his medical knowledge could be of use.

Was that his purpose? To be in the medical profession and help to save lives of those wounded? It wouldn’t be combat, but it might be something.

Either way, he was elated.

“What are you doing?!” His father bellowed.

John turned, bewildered. “What do you mean?”

“You’re filthy! My god, clean yourself up and wear something decent, and hurry!” His father was, by some miracle, sober, and worried, which worried John.

John washed the black from his face and his hands in the bucket of water near the forge, his chest and arms soaked.

“Quickly!” John’s father roared at him. John changed into a clean shirt, staggering to get out the door where his father wanted him.

He was wet with soot and dirt smeared on his neck and his jaw, shirt soaking through a bit. His father growled and hauled him by the scruff of his shirt and took him toward the castle.

John blinked, unsure now what was happening. “Father, where…where are we going? What are we doing?”

“I’m taking you to see the King, did you not hear me this morning?”

John’s eyes grew. But no one did that, no one just went to see the King.

“I-I didn’t understand- Why? What are we going to see the King for?”

~*~

“I can’t!” John hissed as he was dragged down the halls of the castle. “I can’t do this, I- why?”

“Because of all the money he’s giving me just to have you. Now knock it off. It could be worse…”

They were in the throne room now and John couldn’t retaliate, mostly because he was suddenly looking at the King he’d never laid eyes on before. Hardly anyone had ever seen their king as it was, and for him to not only see him but to be this close…

He was draped over a dark throne in blood red robes, the black crown on his head, amber eyes locked on John the moment he entered. His lips were soft and round, skin pale, jaw stubbled and sharp with finely arched brows. He was older than John, roughly twenty years if he had to guess with the faintest of gray wisps in his hair. He was honestly the most beautiful man John had ever seen.

John lost his breath, suddenly very aware of how inappropriate his clothes were, how dirty he was and he wanted to change it. And he was supposed to…

“This is my son, your majesty and he’s more than willing to be your…yours,” his father stammered.

“He will never leave this place again,” the King said quietly, eyes black and dead, but they still hadn’t left John.

“Of course not, why would he leave?” His father chuckled.

“Excuse me? Never leave, but I-”

“Hush, pet,” the King spat. John glared at him. Pet. “He will never leave. And he will be mine, nothing will change that.”

His father nodded again. “And…what we talked about?”

The King tossed his father a large bag of money. John’s eyes grew, staring at it.

“You…you sold me?” He demanded.

His father snorted and turned without another word, leaving John standing there. “I’ll see you at the wedding. If there is one,” he snorted.

John stared at his father’s back, standing there dumbstruck until the heavy doors fell shut. He turned, slowly, and looked at the King.

The man was still looking John over as if appraising a jewel, running a delicate finger under his lower lip.

John shook his head. “Why? Why did you-? I can’t leave here?” He demanded.

“No,” The King said quietly. “I’m keeping you.”

John scowled. “I’m not a toy! Or a pet, I’m a person! And what right do you have to-”

“I have every right,” he snapped. “I have every right to keep you, I’m the king. I can kind of do whatever I want.”

John scowled and shook his head. “You’re a shut in that never sees his people, I hardly call that a king!”

The man stood rather suddenly, so fast that John staggered back, some of his bravery gone.

“You’re mine,” he said softly, walking toward him steadily with a grin on his face. “Absolutely every inch of you is mine. It’s been destined to be that way for a very long time, Pet. And there’s nothing you can do about it. You either stow that ungrateful tongue or I’ll have your bed made in the dungeons instead of the lovely room currently prepared.”

The King’s hand was on his chest, subtly feeling the muscle there, pleased by the look in his eye.

John stared at him, eyes wide in disbelief. “Destined?” He repeated. The King turned from him, stalking toward a door on the opposite side of the room.

“Kitty will show you your bedroom and you will come down to dinner when beckoned.”

The door clanged shut just as the one behind him opened. A red haired woman was waiting for him. Kitty, John assumed.

He didn’t speak to her when she spoke to him, just followed her through the bleak, echoing and empty halls that The Black Castle consisted of. A perfect place for a spider to live and a lion to suffocate.


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the initial contact, John and King James get to know each other better. And it doesn’t go at all well.

The room, it turned out, was beautiful. It was absolutely immaculate and fit his tastes so well he’d forgotten why he was so angry for a long moment.

The bed was draped in rich green curtains, just the shade he liked, and the bedspread matched. It was unbelievably soft and plush, as was the rest of the furniture that adorned the room. Unlike the rest of the castle it was bright. The large balcony doors were open to let in the warmth of the day, the curtains hanging there sheer and waving in the breeze.

John stepped out into the air, looking over the village. The one he’d never go to again.

All he would have for company, it seemed, the rest of his life was the dragon of a man he’d met today. Beautiful to look at but get too close and he bites.

The echoes of his hand on his chest remained, and he couldn’t understand why he couldn’t shake it.

He didn’t know when Kitty left, he just knew she wasn’t there anymore while he paced the room, finding little details that were becoming eerie.

The books on the case where John’s favorites or at least subjects he was interested in. A shield he’d made and sold to some buyer unknown he’d always been immensely proud of hung over the large fireplace before him. The lion etched into it looked back at him, echoing the same passion in his heart.

There were books on medicine, tools to learn it on the rich wood desk, and the clothes. The clothes in the bureau fit him. Perfectly.

He looked down at the blue draped over his skin, soft and lush fabrics more expensive than anything he’d ever seen, and it matched his eyes.

He shook his head, cursing and pacing some more until dinner. Then he would ask the bastard just who he thought he was and why the hell he knew all of these things about him.

How did a shut in like him know all this? How did a man no one had ever even seen manage to stalk him so well?

Was it spies? But why, why would he bother with spies? He was the king, he could do whatever he wanted.

He shook his head again and paced until it was dark.

Kitty walked him to the dining hall where a small table sat in a room meant to be filled with hundreds.

The King was already seated, his crown gone and his robes changed for dinner. John sniffed, angry, and sat down with repressed rage.

The King looked at him across the candles that made his eyes glint and nearly sparkle. John was distracted immediately.

“Is your room to your liking?” He asked in that soft, deadly voice of his. The sweetest venoms. John smirked.

“Yes,” he said stiffly. “Bit odd how everything fit so well.” He plucked his shirt. The King smiled.

“You didn’t think I’d get a new pet without making everything proper first, do you?” He asked.

“Stop calling me that!” John growled, teeth gritted. “I’m not a pet. I’m not a plaything, I’m not yours! I’m no ones, I belong to myself-”

“Ah, that’s not the agreement made with your father, I’m sorry.” The sorry was a formality. “You are mine. Whether you like it or not, you’re mine.”  

John scowled. “How the hell do you know so much about me, hm?! You know things my father didn’t know, how did you find them out?”

The King chuckled and shook his head. “I made it my business to.”

“You sent spies, then.”

The King shook his head. “No.”

John stared at him. Maybe he was some kind of monster, some kind of being that would just know these things like everyone feared he was. He shifted a little, a few servants coming out and setting down the food on the table between them.

He swallowed, staring at the King through the candles still. He didn’t look away either.

“Please, eat,” he urged.

John wasn’t hungry, not even a little, but he got himself a portion anyway. Some underlying thing telling him he shouldn’t be rude. “Thank you, your majesty,” he spat out, fuming still. Confused and absolutely furious.

“James,” the King corrected. “My name is James. And you can call me that if you like.”

The name made him seem more human. Less godlike and more reachable with a name like that. “James,” he repeated.

“Boring name, isn’t it?” He chuckled. John still wasn’t laughing.

“Why did you want me? How did you even know about me?” He demanded. “And what does ‘destined’ mean? What did you mean by that?”

James sighed, setting down his fork. “It was an agreement, between our families a long time ago that I was supposed to marry into yours.”

John scowled. “Why? Why would you want to marry the blacksmith’s son?” He demanded. “We’re not nobility, we’re not even in the damn gentry, what the hell would-”

“It’s not that kind of agreement,” he said, waving it off. “It wasn’t about money, it was a service done.”

“What service?”

“I don’t know.”

“Like hell you don’t.”

“I don’t!” He actually raised his voice. John quieted.  “I never was told. I was told I wasn’t to marry your sister, but the agreement had to be kept. I had to marry you.”

“You said nothing about marrying me. You said you’d…keep me. Like a pet.” He spat out the last word, threw it at him like a knife. James hadn’t moved.

“Eat your dinner, John,” he said carefully.

John huffed and stood, his goblet falling over and spilling onto the floor and the table. He stalked off without another word, leaving James in the dark hall.

~*~

However, going an entire day without eating wasn’t as easy as he thought it was.

His appetite came around two in the morning, the bell tolling outside.

Comfortable as his bed was he couldn’t sleep, and the constant groaning of his stomach was becoming unbearable.

He finally stood, putting on the dark blue dressing gown hanging up for him and started to walk down the stairs alone.

Vast as the castle was he wasn’t going to disturb anyone walking around in the dark. He carried a candle down the large staircase, looking around the silent, dark place.

He went to the hall he’d been in eating with Jim earlier that night, finding it empty, the fireplace cooling. The mess he’d made had long been cleaned up.

He pushed away his guilt and continued his search for the kitchen, finally finding it through several small hallways and a tiny flight of stairs. He looked through cabinets and what was left on the table, peeling away cold meats and pastries and piling them all on to a plate.

“Can’t sleep?”

He nearly screamed, not having heard the king approach in the dead silence of the castle. He whirled around almost in a fighting stance, taking a moment to relax again. “Jesus…”

“Sorry.”

John shifted where he was standing, guilty again for coming to get food when he’d so rudely left dinner. “No, it’s, it’s fine. I just…” He glanced at the plate. James waved it off.

“Please, that’s what it’s here for,” he assured. “Mind if I join you?”

John shook his head. “It’s, it’s your house,” he muttered, realizing how stupid he sounded calling it a house.

James smiled however and started making his own plate, taking down two jugs of mead for them as well. John drank gratefully, eating quietly.

“Suppose I owe you an apology,” he said. “For how I acted.”

“You’ve every right to be upset,” James assured. “Honestly, I thought you knew about it. Then again, my parents failed to tell me as well.”

“You were…you were really young when they passed, weren’t you?” He said softly. James nodded. “Who took care of you after?”

“No one important,” he said shortly. John nodded, dropping the subject.

“Sorry.”

James waved it off, eating slowly. “How is it? I mean, it was better when it was warm…” He chuckled. John looked up at him, marveling that the man could actually smile, or something like it.

“It’s good,” he assured.

James smiled and took another bite of pastry, sugar on his lips which he licked away. John watched, entranced. The dim firelight of their pair of candles danced off the ebony of his hair and the caramel of his eyes. He truly was beautiful.

“You know, there’s some in the village who think you’re a vampire,” he said softly. James’ brows rose.

“Do they?”

John nodded. “Because no one ever sees you. And if they do, it’s at night.”

“And that makes me a vampire?”

“Well, some say vampire, some say demon, werewolf…”

James looked up at him, eyes piercing. John’s heart skipped. “And what do you say?” He asked quietly.

“Well,” John said, treading carefully. “I suppose now I’d say you’re…my fiance?” James looked down again.

“What did you say before?”

John’s ears burned. “I, I might’ve guessed the same. Not a monster, perhaps but…maybe doing things you weren’t supposed to. Bad things.”

“Like what?” James moved closer to him, engaging him more. John tensed, nervous.

“Like…something criminal. Hurting people, maybe.”

“Why do you think I’d do something like that?” He pressed.

“Because…because of how secretive you are. The color of this castle, the black of the crest it all seems rather devious, doesn’t it?”

“And therefore I’m cruel?” He demanded, voice soft.

“It…it’s just an assumption. People wouldn’t have it if you just-”

“There are no hungry in this village, are there? Are there any, in fact, that are starving?” He asked. John stared at him.

“I…No.”

“And crime, is there a plethora of that? Civil unrest, anything of the sort?” John shook his head again. “Then what makes me so cruel? What makes this kingdom a black stain, what makes me so monstrous that I stand accused of being anything but an effective king?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“People’s yammering doesn’t bother me,” he stated.

“And yet, you’re upset.”

“I’m upset because you believe it, and that bothers me.”

John frowned. “Why do you care what I think?”

“Because! You’re my…my fiance,” he said, looking down. John swallowed, looking at him. How vulnerable this man was, locking himself away in an iron clad castle made of cold hard stone, traveling in the dark so no one would see he truly was just a man with feelings and aches.

John leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I was wrong. You aren’t a monster.” James softened, staring at him in awe. “Will you show me around tomorrow?”

The king nodded, a little flustered. “Yes. Yes, of course.”

John smiled, setting his empty plate aside. He squeezed his shoulder on his way toward the door. “If I can’t sleep…”

“Come find me,” James assured. “My room’s just down the hall. Big doors at the end.”

John gave him the barest smile and disappeared into the dark hall.

James stared after him, touching the spot on his cheek that burned from his contact. The boy was going to drive him mad in the best way. He just knew it.


	3. Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and James grow closer as their time together goes on.

James kept his word and showed John around the castle, and John still couldn’t believe how empty it was- yet it was immaculate. Everything was cleaned at the hands of  just a sparse amount of servants who lived in plush quarters adjacent to the kitchen.

Kitty, Molly, a man called Moran John didn’t like the look of, a Ms. Irene Adler and a few other burly men that kept mostly to the gates they guarded were the only apparent residents beyond the king himself, odd for a castle this size and a kingdom so prosperous. John assumed it was his privacy that James wanted.

All were instructed to make sure John was safe and cared for and if they didn’t give him the same respect that they gave to James they’d have him to answer to. None of them looked keen on that idea.

The library and the ballroom were John’s favorites so far. The library was brimming with beautiful novels teeming with stories he wished he could delve into all at once. James had a desk piled with books he’d read and was reading for the month. John ran his fingers over them, pushing the curtains open to  look at the kingdom and watch the sun cast over the bookshelves made of the handsomest and finest wood John had ever seen.

The ballroom, he could have guessed, hadn’t been used for its intended purpose since James had become king. He’d no want for guests and parties, but he did confess a want to dance.

“I used to be very good. No idea if I am now,” he mused, voice echoing off the walls. The magnificent crystal chandelier above their heads was immaculate, the trimming along the wall ornate and gorgeous.

John paused underneath the light and smiled at him, offering him his hand. “Let’s find out,” he grinned, a bit shy. James stared at him.

“You want to dance with me?” He asked softly. John nodded. James cocked his head. “There’s no music.”

“We don’t need any,” he assured. “Simple waltz is all.” He put his hand on James’ shoulder, sighing a little when he felt the king’s hand on his waist. “You can even lead, your highness.”

James started to move, his dark eyes locked with John’s baby blues and danced in circles with him. Slowly, he started to smile. A wide, genuine smile that lit up his eyes beautifully. They crinkled around the edges and dimples set in his cheeks.

He was stunning, looking as happy as he did. And John wanted to do everything he could to keep that happiness in his eyes for as long as he possibly could.

He didn’t know how long they danced together. When his shoes started to pinch and his legs were exhausted they finally stumbled to a couch against the wall and collapsed there, laughing and sweating.

“That, that was far more intricate than any waltz I’ve ever seen,” James laughed, his head against John’s shoulder. John chuckled.

“You dance in enough taverns and you learn a few things,” he smiled, turning to look at him. James marveled, and not for the first time, at how John glowed. Like an angel. His blond hair, his soft eyes, his gentle touch… Perhaps this boy had been sent from the heavens for him.

They took a moment to realize how close they were, and how long they’d been staring at each other.

Smiles faded, understanding this tone, this implication and what they were about to do. They eased closer to each other until John finally captured his lips in his own.

The moment they touched it was as if someone sent a shock through James’ entire body. He held John’s face, tasting the sweat on his young skin and pulled him closer, arms wrapping around his waist and his shoulders to tug him close and tight.

John groaned quietly against his lips, kissing him deeply, fingers sliding up into his black hair, fingers wrapping into the silken strands. He tugged, just a little, and the moan that elicited from the King was absolutely incredible.

They pulled away, John looking at him with a cautious, wide-eyed sort of look, James panting. “Been awhile since you’ve been touched, hasn’t it?” John breathed. James swallowed.

“I… yes,” he said softly, looking shy and ashamed. John cupped his face in both hands and kissed him again, tenderly and carefully.

“You, you haven’t shown me your bedroom yet,” he said quietly, looking right into his dark eyes. James’ eyes lit up and he nodded.

He stood, taking John’s hands and tugging him along the halls back up the stairs.

Every now and then John found himself shoved against the wall and the king’s hungry mouth on his throat or his lips, devouring him with everything he had. It was as if he was trying to take in his soul, his essence, and keep it there without letting go. James never wanted to forget these moments, John gasping against the wall, his body rolling a little when James kissed or bit just right.

Blond curls fell over pale fingers and though it took three times as long, they did eventually get to his bedroom.

The vast bed was luxurious and comforting just to look at, but when John’s back touched the mattress he was in pure heaven. The linens around him, white and beautiful, only made his eyes and the gold in his hair pop all the more.

James’ caramel eyes, the sun splaying across his face from the open window, were absolutely breathtaking. John looked up at him, one hand scratching along his jawline to feel the stubble sting against his skin.

Clothes flew from their bodies, longing to touch each other growing the more they saw. James’ lean and marble skin, shadowed by the sun where John’s broad chest and rippling muscles were luminous in such light were a beautiful contrast.

The heat of the forge and the strength John used every day had made him more beautiful than James could have believed. He slid open palms down his chest and his stomach, growling. He salivated too much to contain himself and dropped his mouth to his honey skin to see if he tasted so sweet.

Dear god, did he.

The boy writhed under his touches, skin burning under the facial hair tearing at him so deliciously. “James!” He choked, fingers tearing at James’ shoulders and his hair again. “Oh, god, don’t stop…”

The king was already tugging on his breeches, laving a flat tongue over his hips with a low whine.

“John- It’s been so long, I don’t-”

“Shh…” John assured, eyes tender behind flushed cheeks and a veil of pleasure. “You know what you’re doing,” he chuckled. “You know how to please me. Please… Don’t stop, James. Don’t stop touching me.”

John was screaming soon, his cock deep down James’ throat while nipples were plucked and teased, fingers deep inside of his eased open hole. He’d came twice already, sweating and trembling while his overstimulated body churned and twitched.

He was out of his mind with pleasure, his moans and cries unbridled, breathy and high in pitch. Sweat that had once been just a mist had turned to something that had slicked his entire body, naked and wet and gripping onto the headboard for support.

“J-James!” He whimpered, strung out, lips parted and so eager to be absolutely fucked. “Please, please, get inside of me, please, Your Grace, I need you…”

James grinned, mercy showing in his smile. He slid up John’s body to kiss his mouth, his lips swollen and red from them. John whimpered against his lips, clinging to him tight while James slicked his cock with oil retrieved from his dresser.

“Oh!” He squealed, feeling the king’s prick breach his body, pushing inside gently.  “Oh god...I never...I...Ah!”

“Y-you’ve never?” He asked, staring at him intently. John shook his head.

“You’re my first,” he breathed, pressing his hand against his chest. James’ eyes softened and he kissed him again. “I’ll be gentle.”

“Please, fuck, just move,” he grunted, shivering a little. James smiled, rolling his hips roll once. John whimpered, nails biting into his shoulders.

They lost themselves in each other, rolling around and sweating, gasping and rocking along each other. They clawed and bit and called out, their slick bodies trembling against the other.

They were doomed, falling for each other so fast, so very quickly and nothing could stop it. And finally when they cried out in sweet rapture, messing all over the sheets and releasing hard, they kissed and kissed until the sun had almost dipped out of sight.

James pushed his hair back, resting with him with a gentle smile on his lips. “Well now I’m never letting you go,” he smiled, brushing his lips against his cheek.

John smiled lazily up at him, carding fingers through his hair. “I don’t know if I want to leave,” he whispered. James smiled and kissed him tenderly, rubbing his back.

They stayed like that, quiet, just looking at each other as the sun went down. They ate dinner in bed and laughed and talked and held onto each other so tight… nothing existed but the pair of them. And nothing was going to take it away.

~*~

Time went on, a few weeks, and James started to smile more and more often, more easily. He showed him the manners he learned growing as royalty, helped him with his medical learning and taught him to ride a horse.

John taught Jim how to light a forge and shape metal, drank with him and took long baths and told him all the ghost stories people told about him.

And it was lovely.

It was warm.

It was so loving.

Until John said, “James...I want to help with the war. I want to fight.”

And that happiness vanished.


	4. Part Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Left alone to his devices, John makes some startling discoveries about his King.

“No.”

“James, please-”

“I said no!”

“James!”

The door to James’ bedroom slammed shut with John holding a blanket around himself on the other side.  

Tears of frustration and anger welled in his eyes and he stalked to his room, slamming the door and falling onto the bed with a grunt. He hugged the pillow tight to his chest, shaking his head while the tears worked into the fabric.

He hadn’t meant to upset him so much, all he wanted was to voice his desires… He wanted purpose, he wanted a life that meant something. He wanted to be more than the boy in the king’s palace - why was that so difficult for James to understand?

He spent the night tossing and turning and fighting the urge to apologize to James and tell him to forget the whole thing just so he didn’t have to sleep alone.

Dawn broke and he went down for breakfast but James wasn’t there.

He wasn’t anywhere John looked in fact, as if he’d disappeared entirely. It only irritated him more.

He huffed and walked through the castle instead, stomping around in his anger and not paying attention to where he was going.

It wasn’t until he noticed the air had gotten very cold and the area around him very, very dark that he realized where he’d wound up.

The dungeon.

He stopped at the end of the hall, staring down the cell block with wide eyes, breath echoing in the dark. He reached for a torch behind him, peering down. James said there was no one down here, and it was filthy so they hadn’t gone beyond the staircase when he’d showed him the castle the day before.

Still, it felt so eerie, like there was...something here. His throat was too dry to call out, so he walked.

Shadows from the torch fell along the dark stone walls, into the empty cells that hadn’t been occupied in at least a decade.

He paused outside of one, something on the floor catching his eye. He walked closer to it, looking down at the little things scattered on the floor.

Toys. They were toys. A little carved boat, a velvet bird worn on its head from being pet or kissed, a little cart with a broken wheel, a leather horse all dried out and cracked and missing a glass eye. The last toy was a stuffed rabbit, worn down and left here dirty and forgotten. They all rested on a pile of rotted, old straw and a thin blue blanket.

A child had slept here. A child had lived here. There were still clumsy chalk drawings on the wall of sunlight, a little boy surrounded by other children, a child being held by a mother with a kind face. Though faded and the drawings were a bit crude, John understood.

How could James imprison a child? How could he do that? How could he be so monstrous and cruel?

“No,” he said softly. “No, he…”

“You’re not one of the servants.”

John cried out and whipped around, looking around wildly for where the deep voice had come from. “Who said that?” He called, fearing it to be an apparition of some kind. “Who’s there.”

Two cells down on the opposite wall, a thin, ghostly pale hand stretched from the bars, beckoning him closer. “I did.” The voice said again, rumbling still. John’s fear didn’t subside.

Slowly, he walked closer to the cell, looking inside at the man that spoke.

His hair was black and silver, falling around his face in messy curls, his face as gaunt and pale as his hand. His clothes were old and worn, but he looked relatively clean - if undernourished. His eyes were clouded ice and just as cold. He looked like a dead man. Like a ghost or some skeleton granted the gift to walk as it pleased.

John stared, terrified at the sight of the man. James said there was no one here. James said this place was empty… Was this the child that had been there? No, no, he was much too old to have been the child in that cell. “Who are you?” He forced out, jaw flexed.

“Sherlock Holmes,” the man stated. “And who are you?”

“It doesn’t matter who I am,” he said pointedly. “How...what are you doing down here? James said there was no one here-”

Sherlock laughed, head thrown back in a rasping, dark cackle that made John’s hair stand on end. “He told you that, did he?” He demanded. John nodded once. “Such a liar the spider is. Such a good liar too.”

“Why? Why would he lie to me? Who are you?”

Holmes snorted. “For many years I was the king’s caretaker. After his parents passed I, as their top advisor, was to care for him and keep the throne until he was ready.”  John didn’t speak, only stared in confusion. “But he resented that. He never appreciated the sacrifices I made to keep him safe, to protect this kingdom. He thought I was trying to take it from him, to steal it from his name and in his petulant rage he threw me in here.” Sherlock’s voice quieted. “Twenty years, nearly. That’s how long I’ve been down here in the dark...alone… Until you came along.” Those eyes turned to John again. “Who are you? Not a servant, surely.”

“My name is John. John Watson.” Sherlock’s eyes sparked. “I’ve only been here a few days…”

“And you’re to marry the Mad King, hm?” He chuckled. “I wish you the best of luck. I only hope you don’t anger him too much. You might end up here like me.”

John shook his head. “James wouldn’t do that to me, he wouldn’t,” he said firmly. Holmes laughed again.

“How do you know? How could you possibly know he wouldn’t lie to you? He lied about someone being here, didn’t he?” He demanded. John faltered. “Why do you think he keeps such little company? Because he likes his privacy? No, all of his other employees have been killed or rotted here!” Holmes nodded to the cell John had been standing at. The child’s cell.

“He...he didn’t kill a child, he-”

“He never told you about his brother?” Sherlock asked. John’s head was spinning, the air down here too musky and thin for him to think properly. Brother… James didn’t have a brother, James had no one. James wasn’t carelessly cruel there was always a reason to his anger and resentment, but if he saw a big enough reason to lock away his brother.

“Poor Richard,” Sherlock mused. “Locked down in the dark until he starved to death. Left his toys here and everything, the brute. I’ll bet he even tossed him in the grave with the other peasants instead of putting him in the royal tomb.”

“But why-”

“To keep the throne for himself, haven’t you been listening? Their parents died when they were both very young, and James, being the oldest wanted nothing more than to rule this land with as much cruelty and hatred as he could get away with. Richard was softer, kinder, gentler and would ruin James’ reign. He locked him down here with me.

“He held trials for all that served in the castle and killed anyone who didn’t abide his rule-”

“The people would have revolted,” John interrupted, shaking his head. “There would be records-”

“Not if no one ever left here and said anything,” Sherlock reminded. “He barred them all in here. The ones that remain are the ones so lost in his charisma and manipulation that they believe him to be right. Only one person got away from this place alive.” Sherlock looked up at him. “Your mother.”

John stopped. “My…”

“They made an agreement. With the strength your family line produced it was decided he would marry her first born.”

“Why?” John pressed. “He would’ve been so young, so would she, why would…”

“Why do madmen do anything?” Sherlock pressed. “That’s why you’re here. An agreement made in blood.”

“But he...he didn’t destroy the kingdom. It’s doing better than it ever has! How does that make him cruel-?”

“Do you ever wonder where it is he goes in the night? What he does? He steals. He murders, he commits such horrific crimes to keep the kingdom’s wealth. He keeps the people’s favor while tearing out traveler’s throats and stealing their riches and their lands. He’s vile, he’s cruel and it’s only a matter of time before he turns his monstrosity on you too.”

“Enough,” John spat. “Enough just...just stop!” His chest was heaving, eyes dark. He shook his head. “I don’t...I need to talk to him about it-”

“Yes, go ahead and tell the lunatic that put me in here you talked to me. That’ll keep you alive, won’t it?”

“James won’t hurt me!” He pressed. “He doesn’t even want me to join the army, he doesn’t want me to get hurt and leave him!” Oh. Oh, there it was. He hadn’t even realized he’d known that… He turned from Holmes and started toward the staircase, leaving this horrible place behind.

He glanced at he toys as he passed, spying the letter R carved into the bottom of the boat. Richard… His breath left him. “Oh god, no.”

“Do have fun talking to the murderer!” Holmes called. “You’ll see what a monster he is!”

The man’s cackling echoed up the hall after him and continued knocking between his ears for hours to come.

~*~

John continued to look for James, frantically calling his name to find some kind of truth in all of this. An answer. What if what Holmes said was true? What if it was all true, then what? What would he do? Run away? Leave for the army anyway and have James send out an assassin or a bounty hunter to kill him or bring him back screaming? Maybe if he spoke to his father…

No. No it couldn’t be true. James’ eyes were too pained, his touch too gentle, his kiss to desperate for him to be a monster. He couldn’t be a monster, could he?

He ended up screaming himself hoarse and still hadn’t found his king. None of the servants would tell him anything beyond, “You’ll see him again when he wants you to” and it was all driving him mad.

He perched himself outside of James’ bedroom door, waiting for him to get back himself. He couldn’t stay away forever, could he?

Dinner came and went without him moving. Night settled in and though the halls and the floor was cold he didn’t move. He dozed lightly, jerking awake any time he came too close to sleep with Sherlock’s haunting face always at the forefront of his mind.

“You’ll see what a monster he is! You’ll see what a monster he is! You’ll-”

He shut his eyes tight, covering his ears. “Shut up, just shut up!”

“John?”

He opened his eyes, looking up at James. The king was damp from the rain, hair fallen from its usual style because of it with water dripping on the floor. “Are you alright?”

John stared at him, eyes wide, skin pale, mouth suddenly very dry. “I-I need to talk to you about something,” he managed. James winced and nodded.

“I know. I know you do. And I’m sorry for how I reacted, John, I’m just afraid you’ll-”

“No, not about that,” John said, waving it off. His heart was pounding in his ears. “I want to talk about Sherlock Holmes. And Richard.”

James suddenly looked very scared. Not the kind of scared when one is found out after they’ve done something wrong but true, deep fear of the names mentioned. “What?” He whispered. He looked very small, almost childlike, and it frightened him.

John swallowed, not wanting to back down but he did soften a little. “Just, just tell me who they are. Tell me, please, I just want to know the truth.” He stared at him, his chest tight. “James, did you kill your brother?” James balked and took a step back.

“Brother? I didn’t have a brother, Richard wasn’t my brother!” He shouted. “Why did you talk to Sherlock Holmes? Why were you in the dungeons in the first place?!”

“Why did you lie to me and tell me there was nothing down there?” He demanded.

“Because I didn’t want you to talk to him!”

“Why? Because he knows who you really are?” He barked. He needed to stop, he needed to stop shouting before he said something he’d regret.

“Who am I, John? Who am I really?” He spat.

“You’re...you’re a monster,” he whispered. “If what he said is true…”

James’ eyes filled with tears and he shook his head. “You’d really take his word over mine?” He whispered. “You’d believe something like that so easily? Am I really so cruel to you?”

“I don’t know,” John said softly. “I don’t know you enough to really make that decision.”

James was shaking, his jaw clenched tight. “Then what’s the point of me saying anything?” He shoved past John into his room and locked the door behind him, leaving John standing in the cold, staring at the door.

The silence that surrounded him was deafening. He stood there, his head a mess of what was right, what was wrong, who he could trust, who was lying…

“John?” Molly said behind him. He turned, the soft moonlight glinting off the tears in his eyes.

“Sorry, I’ll, I’ll go to bed-”

“No, that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about,” she assured. “Would you…would you like a cup of tea? I think you’ll need it…” She took his arm and guided him down to the kitchen, where she began to speak.

~*~

“Mama…” James watched the coffins be placed before his eyes, clinging to the black cloak of Sherlock Holmes, as they disappeared.

His little face still held bruises and scratches from where Mama had shown him how angry she was with him. Papa too, and yet he missed them so dearly.

“Stop crying,” Holmes said sharply. “You’re going to be king. Kings don’t cry. Not over death. People die, Richard, it’s what they do.”

“I-I’m James, ‘m not-”

“Your name isn’t James anymore.” Sherlock led him away from the crowd, not slowing so it was easier for the little prince to keep up. A little girl not much older than them watched, a quiet child with large eyes. James didn’t see her. “Your mother called you that, and she’s gone now. So you can’t be James anymore, can you?”

James shook his head. Richard. His name was Richard now…

||

“Please!” Richard’s little hands stretched through the bars, grabbing for Sherlock’s retreating figure. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’ll be a good boy! I’ll be good! Don’t leave me!”

His eyes were bruised and throbbing, blood on his lips where Sherlock had hit him. He’d asked when he was going to be king, that was all. That was all he asked.

A man had come and asked him what his name was, had asked all of the little boys in the court what their names were. Sherlock said they were looking for someone named James, but Richard didn’t know anyone with that name.

And then all the people died.

At a feast, nearly all of the people dropped dead then and there, vomiting and crying and all the other little boys -Carl and Michael and all his friends- died at their table.

Richard had cried and cried and Sherlock had slapped him until he stopped, telling him those people were trying to take the kingdom away and needed to leave.

The little girl with big eyes, her friend with red hair and the old maid remained.

And now, when the man had come looking for James again, Richard had asked when he was going to be king, when he would be big enough to wear the crown and help the people.

This is what he got instead.

He played with his toys in the dark, he drew pictures of all his dead friends and what the sun might look like. He drew himself with a little crown on his head and all the people being so happy and not hungry or sick anymore. He would be a good king. A grand, wonderful king, he promised that.

But darkness, it seemed, was catching.

He forgot about being king. He forgot about being anything but a demon lurking in the black.

The years passed and Richard wasn’t let out of his cell. No more men came looking for James, Sherlock stopped visiting for talks and only came to beat him and make sure he was too weak to fight anyone that came in to use him. It seemed that was one of Sherlock’s favorite diplomatic gifts. Giving them Richard for the night.

The only person he ever saw that didn’t harm him was the young woman with big eyes that never spoke to him.

He was a man now. Nearly sixteen if he’d been counting correctly, and he was angry. Enraged and tired and no longer a caged kitten. He was a dragon now, ready to set fire to those who touched him.

The girl came down as usual, she reached through the bars to put down his dinner and take the old plate away.

He grabbed her wrist and her throat, tugging her against the bars hard with strength he shouldn’t have had.

“Let me out, now!” He snarled.

“I-I can’t!” She cried, shaking her head. “I can’t, I don’t have keys!”

He growled and squeezed tighter. Her free hand scratched at his fingers. “James, please!” She squeaked.

James.

His grip slackened. He stared at her. “James?” He echoed. She nodded.

“That’s your name,” she breathed. “He made you change it, but that’s your name. Your name i-is James. You’re supposed to be king.”

King.

He looked at the chalk drawings on the wall, of a small child with a crown. James. Mother called him that. Mother named him James, Mother the Queen, James the Prince, Papa the King, he was supposed to be king!

And Sherlock Holmes…

He stared at her. “Let me out,” he breathed. “No harm will come to you. Just let me out.”

She stared at him, at his black eyes, and nodded. “Okay.”

“What’s your name?” James spat, realizing he’d never known.

“M-Molly,” she said, rubbing her neck. “I’m Molly, your majesty.”

~*~

John stared at Molly, cup of tea clenched between his hands, shaking his head. “That…”

“It’s true,” she promised. “Every word is true. I let his majesty out of the cell and he took back his throne. Sherlock tried jumping out of one of the towers to kill himself but it didn’t work. His majesty imprisoned him instead. Killed his brother when he tried leading a revolt against him. Moran came back from the war and worked for Sherlock just to keep his head above water and took James’ side the moment the tables turned again. Kitty and I have always been here. Mrs. Hudson too.

“His fear of people being too close, so many in one place and trapping him, that’s what keeps him here. His lack of trust keeps his servants to us few. That’s why he stays. That’s why he only goes at night.”

“Where does he go?” John asked. “When he leaves?”

“He does a lot of his foreign affairs at night,” she explained. “Sometimes he just goes for a walk. Sometimes he goes to this tavern in the woods where no one seems to know who he is or they’re just too polite to say anything.” John nodded. Of course it would be that simple.

John stared into the fire now, tears in his eyes. “So Sherlock, he...he said those things just to, to make me believe James was some monster?” Molly nodded. “Oh god. God, what have I done?”

“Don’t worry,” Molly assured, putting her hand on his knee. “It’s going to be alright. He cares for you. More than he’s ever cared for anyone, I think. He’ll understand once you apologize.”

John nodded, shutting his eyes, trying not to think of little James not knowing his own name, trusting someone so horrible and spending his days bleeding in the dark.

He couldn’t go and fight now, he just couldn’t. It was much too selfish for him to.

“Why me?” He whispered, the answer to his question still unanswered. “Why did he want me?”

Molly shrugged. “I have no idea.”

~*~

In his room for the first time in longer than ten years, James stood alone. He pushed the doors open to the balcony and looked out at the town before him, shaking with adrenaline and real fear.

He buried his face in his arms and wept. Free. He was free now. No one would take that from him again, he wouldn’t let them get close enough.

He felt eyes on him after some time and he looked up, right down into the window of a little cottage.

He saw a boy, with soft blond hair and eyes so blue he could make them out in the night. He stared at the child, who looked so worried about him, so concerned for his prince. James laughed a little, just looking and not saying a word.

He moved away from the rail and the boy’s eyes followed him still. Just a peasant boy, the blacksmith’s son. And James found himself wanting to know everything about him.

He’d have to keep an eye on that little cottage himself. 


	5. Part Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John understands he needs to be there for James. James understands John's need to be the man he was meant to be.

The handle gave under John’s hand and he stepped inside James’ chambers.

The king wasn’t in the living area, or the bedroom and John was worried he simply wasn’t there at all.

He heard the soft sobbing and turned, looking past the soft curtains covering the doors that led to the balcony. His heart clenched a little, staring out at his king’s shaking form in the moonlight. He was naked to his waist, leaning against the stone rain with shoulders heaving.

He walked forward slowly, pushing through the curtains. He put a gentle hand on his scarred back, wincing at his chill.

James started, turning to look at him, wiping his face. “John-”

“I’m so sorry,” he said immediately, touching James’ face, cradling it in his hands. “I- Molly told me. What really happened. What Sherlock put you through...and I didn’t- I shouldn’t have believed him. God, I don’t know why I did.”

James glanced at him. “Because you can tell, you can tell how terrible I am, and you’re right. You’re right, I’m-”

John pressed a finger to his lips. “People do things when they’re afraid, they say things they don’t mean and I understand. I understand, James, you’re not a monster. You’re a man. A hurt, lost and lonely man. And I want to help.” He pulled him into his arms. He smoothed his hands down his back and carded his hair back.

James hugged him back, squeezing him closer, tighter. “I was alone for so long,” he whispered. “No one has ever cared for me, no one has ever…ever loved me and I don’t know how to love someone else.”

“Shh, I know. I know, that’s what I’m here for. That’s why I’m here, James.” He shut his eyes, kissing his temple. “I know why me wanting to join the army hurt you so much. You’re scared I’ll leave you and I won’t come back.”

James hugged him tighter, eyes squeezing shut. “Yes,” he breathed. “I can’t do it again. I can’t be alone anymore. That’s why I needed you, that’s why I picked now to bring you here now. I can’t breathe in this place, I can’t stand the constant silence but I can’t fill the halls again.”

John thought about how awful it must have been, for James to have watched all of those people drop dead at his table, thinking this place was dangerous for anyone to be in in groups like this.

He swallowed, tears in his eyes and looked at his king. “I know, James. It...it’s selfish of me to want to leave, I’ll stay. I’ll stay here with you.”

James shut his eyes, taking a slow breath. “No, John. It’s not selfish. It’s brave. It’s self-less, not selfish. And I...I cannot deny you what you need.”

“James-”

“No. No, I won’t keep you cooped up here, John. You’re a lion, not a spider like me. You need to run, you need to help others with your strength, you need to roar, Johnny. You...you have to. People need you,” he explained, holding his face. “I’ll help you with your medical training, I’ll help you learn more and when you’re ready…” He nodded.

John blinked tearfully, thumbing the king’s jaw. “You’re sure?” He whispered. He nodded, rubbing his back.

“Yes. Your happiness means...it means everything to me,” he said quietly, brushing his curls back. John softened, leaning into his touch.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Okay, I’ll...I’ll...get started.” James smiled sadly and started to let him go.

John squeezed him tighter. “Tomorrow. Tomorrow I will start. Tonight? I’m yours.”

James kissed him, holding him tighter, almost too hard, desperate to hang onto him. “You’re mine…”

Bathed in moonlight they both stayed, kissing each other in view of the stars. John ghosted fingers against the silver in James’ hair. “I...I think I love you,” he whispered.

James choked and pressed his face against his, holding onto him fiercely. “You…” John nodded.

He kissed him again, dragging him into the bedroom. He touched him feverishly, desperately, hanging onto him while he still could. John loved him. He truly and completely loved him.

What more could he ask for?

~*~

John stood at the gate with him, soldiers behind him, already dressed in armor with the medics emblem seared into the plate on his arm. He looked so young here, and so small beside the other soldiers. James was terrified.

He swallowed, taking his hands in his own and squeezing them. “You come back to me, do you understand?” He pressed, jaw hard.

“I will,” John promised, pressing his forehead against his.

“Don’t you-don’t you dare get hurt. You come home. In one piece, understand? Do you understand me?” He asked fiercely.

“James, I understand,” he whispered, kissing him tenderly. “I will come back. And I will write you, every day. Every day.” He kissed his forehead. “I’ll come back to you as soon as I can. In one piece. Unhurt. I promise.”

James shut his eyes against his hand, eyes full of stars for him.

“I love you,” John said, thumbing his cheeks. James’ lips parted, but nothing came out. He wanted to say it. God, did he ever want to say it back but he was scared to. So terrified…

And John knew that. “Shh...I understand. I understand, it’s okay.” He kissed him softly. “I’ll see you very soon.”

James nodded, kissing his fingers, letting him go slowly. “I’ll miss you every second,” he whispered. “Every single one.”

John smiled and waved as he left the gates, mounting a horse.

“I’m so proud of you,” he called. John beamed that brilliant, shining smile of his, and rode off with the other soldiers. James watched, even ran to the road itself to see him until the last possible second.

And then he was gone.

Tears ran down his face and he managed to walk back to the courtyard and weep in the solitude of this black fortress he had made.

He had to hold onto the man John had helped him become in these last few months, not return to the creature he used to be. John would be back. John would write him letters. John would make it back to him alive and safe.

He carried that belief over the next several months of being alone with nothing but letters to hold at night. Parchment with delicate words etched on them from John’s delicate hands.

He told him of the battles he saw, the toll the war took, the lives he saved...the few he ended because of their terrible, horrific deeds and James couldn’t condemn him for that.

He told him how beautiful some of the lands were, how they had to have been before battle tore them apart.  

And then they stopped.

The letters ceased and James was terrified immediately. Perhaps they’d gotten lost, perhaps John was somewhere a messenger couldn’t get to, perhaps…

Perhaps he’d died.

Or worse.

He paced for days, not sleeping or eating and when he did catch snatches of sleep they were riddled with horrific nightmares of John suffering, of him screaming and if only he could have one speck of a word about him…

It came, eventually.

A letter stating John would be coming back to the palace, coming home.

And he was hurt.

~*~

Before John had been wounded, just before, he’d been taken.

Horrible men with wandering hands and brutal force beat and touched him for information. They recognized royal clothing and ripped him apart for it.

They cut off his curls and laughed, they sliced his skin and his clothes and mocked him, spit on him, held daggers to his throat and screamed in his face that they would slaughter him if he didn’t tell them what they wanted to know.

“God, please, let me live,” John sobbed, wrapped in chains and drenched in sweat. “Please, please…”

He told them. He told them and people died and they smeared their innocent blood in his mouth and along his throat.

He screamed and begged and thought of James, thought of him to keep himself strong but he felt so broken.

When they released him, gave him rags to put on and shoved him onto the battlefield to stagger and scream not to fire at him, an arrow pierced his shoulder.

The pain was too incredible, too terrifying and harsh for him to stay conscious any longer.

He fell, and was sure he would die.

He woke again in a tent shrieking and sobbing aloud, thrashing to get away from the hands on him. The pain was still so incredible he couldn’t breathe. He was only calmed when wine was poured past his lips to make his mind fuzzy and dull the agony.

He wept for Jim. His hands trembled, his nightmares grew to be too much for the soldiers to handle.

They abandoned him. The wagon he’d been transferred to, taking him he knew not where, was empty. He watched the sun dance through the leaves and over the canvas above him. And still he cried. He longed for his king’s warmth and soft kisses and gentle, tender words. He loved him so. He cared for him so and he knew James would take care of him and love him…

He touched his head, his hair so short now and shut his eyes tight. James loved his curls and they were gone, they were gone… Hot tears fell down his cheeks. His left hand kept shaking. When he managed to walk he limped severely.

It took weeks to get to the palace and he was nothing but a burden to everyone. He could only imagine how James would hate him.

They rolled up to the palace and James was already waiting. The king ran toward the wagon immediately, taking John’s face in his hands and looking him over frantically.

“You promised,” James whispered. “You promised you wouldn’t be hurt.”

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, trying to hold himself together. “I didn’t mean to.”

James’ own tears were stagnant, holding his face. “Oh, Johnny…”

He took him into his arms, holding him, careful not to hurt him, one hand stroking the back of his head. His hair had grown in a little since it happened, but there were no curls, none…

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, they- I told them not to-” He whimpered.

“Shh...shh, Johnny, it’s alright. It’s alright. Shh…” He kissed his temple. “I’ll take care of you. I will…”

He helped John into the palace, up the stairs to their room and lied him down gently, holding onto him when he clung.

“I love you,” he choked out, forcing the words. “I love you so much, I love you… I love you…”

John cried against his chest, quickly losing consciousness from the pain wracking his body. He was home. He was with James. But it was only a matter of time before James realized he didn’t want a broken soldier.


	6. Part Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following his trauma in battle, John is lost, hurt and confused, and James is just as distraught in helping his wounded soldier.

Screams. Shrieks. Sobbing and bloodcurdling begging echoed through the black castle

James held John in his arms while he cried and screamed in a sleep he couldn’t wake him from. He sobbed in his own attempts to wake him, overwrought and terrified for him.

The bed was a mess of sheets wet with John’s cold sweat, tangled around John’s thrashing body in the light from the sun falling outside. James fought to get his attention, fought to hold him still.

“John! John, it’s okay. It’s okay, wake up! Wake up for me please, please, open your eyes. You’re not there anymore, no one can hurt you! You’re safe, you’re safe, baby!” He cried, holding him protectively. He ran fingers through the hair he had left, rocking him.

“Don’t touch me!” John mumbled, whimpering and writhing. “Don’t, don’t, it hurts! It hurts, my body- It’s mine, no, please!” He screamed again, trying to buck out of his arms.

“John!”

His face was so red, sweat beating down his face with his tears. If he strained himself like this for too much longer he could hurt himself.

He reached for the glass beside the bed and splashed it in John’s face.

Finally, those eyes opened. The screams were louder, the distress in clearer words now but he was awake. “PLEASE, IT HURTS! IT HURTS HELP ME!”

“JOHN!”

James grabbed his face and forced him to look at him, staring at him intently. “John, it’s alright. It’s alright. You’re safe. You’re home now and safe with me. It’s okay. It’s okay, shhh…” He smoothed his hair back, holding his face. “There, there, it’s alright.” John’s cries died down to soft little whimpers. He collapsed in James’ arms, chest heaving.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m trying. I...I’m sorry.” He whimpered, clinging to him.

“No, no, don’t be sorry,” he whispered. “Please, don’t be sorry, sweetheart. You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s okay. I’m here for you. I’m here.”

John looked at him, at the bruise on his face from the nightmares the night before. He’d woken much like now and had swung and fought him in such overwhelming fear.

“Did I hurt you?” he whimpered, looking for fresh ones. James mopped the water off of his face and straightened the blankets.

“No, sweetheart. You didn’t hurt me. Are you alright?” He asked, gently helping him up. His legs wobbled and he clung tight to James, limping closer to the wash bin in the next room.

“I keep...They kept touching me,” he whispered. “F-fondling me and making me do things I didn’t want to do. And it-it hurt!”

His knees gave out, sending him and James to the ground where he cried. James gathered him into his arms, brushing his hair back. “Shh, shh...It’s okay. They can’t do that now,” he promised, delicate fingers touching the bandages on his shoulder. “They can’t hurt you. They’re dead. They’re all fucking dead and they can’t touch you.”

John sniffed, his face an absolute wreck. “Th-they’re dead?” He breathed. James nodded.

“I made sure every single one of them paid for what they did to you. The war is almost won, John, and those men suffered for touching you. And they will not hurt you anymore,” he swore.

He collapsed against him and clung to him, sobbing hard.

James picked him up and gently started to undress him. John whimpered and turned away roughly. “No! No, don’t look at me, don’t look,” he sobbed, shaking his head. “Don’t look at me, I’m not...pretty anymore.”

“Shh, hey,” he whispered, cupping his face. “Shh, you’re beautiful. You’re absolutely beautiful my darling.” He kissed him gently, smoothing fingers through his hair. “Shh…” John shook his head.

“N-no,” he gasped. “No. I can’t. I can’t let you. You won’t want me!”

“Why wouldn’t I want you, darling? I love you, how could I...I leave you?”

“I’m already ugly,” he gasped, touching his hair. “If you, you see my new scars…” Jim wrapped his arms around him, gently holding the back of his head.

“I love you. Not your hair. Not your body. I love you.” He kissed him tenderly, smoothing his hand over his cheeks. “I have to wash you. I have to, darling. You can’t do it alone, you’ll hurt yourself.”

John bowed his head, shaking with his cries.

“Why don’t you close your eyes?” James whispered. “Close your eyes and pretend you’resomewhere else.”

John sniffed and closed his eyes, shaking as James carefully started to take off of his clothing.

James didn’t speak, but god what they’d done to him. There were scars, puckered, pink skin across his body from knives and burns. He winced, touching them gently. He carefully unwrapped the bandage on his shoulder, wincing again when he saw it. “I know, I know it hurts. Shh...Come. Stand up, sweetheart, stand up for me.”

He guided him up, taking both of his hands and gently edged him into the tub.

John hissed, shuddering as he was immersed. The water stung his wounds, spiking reminders of how they got there. He pressed closer to James.

“Shh…”

John kept his eyes closed and focused on how soft James’ touch was compared to theirs. Compared to anyone that had touched him. His pale hands were so soft and caressed him gently with warm water and a soft-smelling soap that didn’t sting or burn. His tender fingers worked through his butchered hair, so cautious.

He lost himself in his touches, finally lulled enough to open his eyes. “The pain…” He whispered. “It’s...it’s better.”

James smiled. “I put some herbs in the water,” he whispered, kissing each eyelid and smiling softly at him. “It feels better, then?”

John nodded, swallowing. “Yes, thank you.”

James thumbed his cheek, looking into his eyes. “You’re still beautiful,” he assured. “Just as beautiful as before. I promise.” He hugged him tighter, kissing along his forehead. “Let’s get out.”

He picked him up and wrapped him in towels, helping him limp into the bedroom. He sang to him while he dressed his wounds, catching tears on his thumbs and kissing him when his sobs overtook him.

“I’m here. I’m right here, John. I’ve got you.” He kissed his forehead and eased him into bed, brushing fingers through his hair. “We’ll get through this,” she promised. “We’ll get through it. This will pass, my darling, it will get better.”

“I didn’t help,” he whispered. “I didn’t become the man I wanted to be, I didn’t help all the people I should have- What do I do? I’m not a soldier, I’m-I’m not a doctor, I’m not a blacksmith…I don’t know who I am.”

James hugged him, kissed his face softly, tenderly. “You’re my prince. My king, the love of my life. And you are brave, you are strong and stubborn and wise and...and you’re the most important man in the world, John. You are a soldier, you are a doctor and a blacksmith and soon you will be a king too. You’re all of those things, John. Even if you are hurt.”

“I’m weak,” he whimpered. “I’m not strong, look at me!”

James was. His swollen, red-rimmed eyes on a face becoming more and more lined as time passed and the battles that had taken their toll on him had dulled the blue in his eyes. He cupped his neck. “You’re not weak. You’re tired and you’re in a great deal of pain. You need rest and time to recover, that’s all.”

He kissed his hair and offered him another glass of water. “There,” he whispered. “Drink up. I’ll get you some food to help your strength. It’ll be alright. I know it will.”

It did. It took time, lots of it, for John’s screams in the night to fade to whimpers. For the tremor in his hands to be infrequent and only happened under stress.

But the limp… The limp hadn’t gotten much better.

He’d gotten John a walking stick to make things easier for him, and the shame in John’s face when he took it broke his heart. “It’s okay,” James assured. “Don’t worry. It’ll...it’ll get better. I promise it’ll get better.”

John swallowed and nodded and limped off to be alone.

He did that too now. Walked off to be by himself and disappeared between meals. And then when he was there his portions were nearly non-existent. He stopped talking, he stopped sleeping, and eventually James couldn’t take it anymore.

“John.” He grabbed his good shoulder and turned him around.

“What?” He spat, glaring at him hard. James tried to glare back, tears in his eyes.

“You’re scaring me,” he whispered. “You’re really scaring me, and I don’t know what to do to help you.” He swallowed. “But you’re shutting me out. You’re ignoring me, you’re not talking to me, you’re...you’re avoiding me and when you do speak to me it’s harsh and horrible like I’ve hurt you, and if I have I’m sorry. I wish...I wish I could help if that were true…”

John softened, staring at him. “You didn’t do anything, James, I’m just…” He raked a hand over his face. “I’m angry.”

“Why?” He whispered, goading gently. “What are you angry about?”

John shifted, hugging himself. “I still feel so weak. I feel...pathetic. Wasted. Disgusting. I know that when people look at me, they’ll see it too. And I don’t know how to make it better. I don’t know how to make any of this any better. I don’t feel like it’s ever going to get better!”

“Shh, shh, hey,” he whispered, holding his shoulders. “John, you’re not weak. You survived that horrific time, you made it through all of that pain and the nightmares, you’re doing that right now. And that is strength, John. It’s not weakness. You’re a hero.”

“Heroes don’t let other people die because of their own fears,” he whispered. “Heroes don’t tell valuable information to the enemy to make the pain stop for a moment. I’m not a damn hero, I’m...I’m a coward. I should be tried for war crimes, not coddled by you!”

James tensed, injured. “I’m not coddling you,” he whispered. “I’m trying to help you. No one blames you for anything you said while being tortured, John. Absolutely no one.”

“And how the fuck could you possibly know that?” He barked. James scowled, his eyes dark.

“Because that’s how people think, how people behave toward one another, no one could blame you for anything that happened!” He snapped. “It’s not your fault, none of it is your fault! The people will-”

“How do you know?!” John demanded. “How do you know anything about people?!”

James winced, staring at him. “You’re right, I guess I wouldn’t,” he whispered. “But I suppose the stories I’ve heard about this kind of thing, about men tortured just like you were who did the same thing and are still called heroes. But how much could I know?” His jaw flexed and he stared at him.

John looked back, uncertain, anger ebbed. “I...I want to stop feeling like this.”

James softened. “I want to help.”

“I can’t do this by myself, I can’t push you away. And I’m so tired of this…”

“I know, John.” He wrapped his arms around him, kissing him tenderly. “You just need time. Just some time. And I’ll be right here. I won’t leave you.”

John cried quietly into his chest, his shoulders heaving. James rocked him, rubbing his back. “Shh...shh...it’s okay. It’ll be okay.” John nodded, face wet.

“I know. I trust you.”


	7. Part Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patience and time is all that is needed to heal these wounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry it took so long to finally wrap this up! Thank you to all those who read!! I LOVE YOU JOHNNY THIS IS FOR YOU BABY!

John’s curls grew back. The butchered cropped cut he’d been forced to have was now evened out in golden ringlets that fell around his head and glittered in the sun.

James walked with him in the gardens, keeping pace with John as he limped through and losing himself in those delicate curls. It was just one more thing bringing John back to who he really was, who he had been before and who he was blossoming into day by day.

The king didn’t expect war to leave John precisely as he was, and it hadn’t. The torture, the injury; war changed every man and John was not immune to this.

But he was starting to smile more. He was eating more, teasing him more and spending more time with him after the talk they’d had.

The walks were helping. James continued to suggest them and John never said no. Using his legs rather than cursing the one giving him trouble and getting lost in the music of James’ voice and the brilliant shine in his eyes when he looked at him was almost enough to make him forget.

But when the sun faded, when the light was taken from them and he was left curled at his side in the black things weren’t okay anymore. His hands would tremble, his leg would stiffen and ache and his shoulder would burn. He never outwardly spoke of his ailments, but he cried in James’ awaiting chest instead. And James was so sweet, and so patient and kind with him… He didn’t deserve him.

John shook his head, bringing himself back to the gardens out of his dark thoughts, smiling a little at Jim.

Jim stopped, plucking a gorgeous blue flower and turned to weave it in John’s hair. The boy giggled, shy and pinking on the apples of his cheeks.

“Beautiful,” the king smiled, a gentle hand gliding down his cheek in a careful touch.

“You’re sure?” John whispered, smile faltering. James cupped his face and kissed him tenderly, keeping their foreheads pressed together when they broke apart.

“Never been sure of anything else in my whole life,” he grinned.

They carried on like that for awhile, brushing petals against John’s nose, smiling and laughing with each other, urging the light in John’s eyes back little by little.

James missed the way they sparkled but the glimmer they held now was just as well. He loved John and he would love him no matter what.

Time was the key factor in all of this. It had been since John had first appeared here. Did the limp have anything to do with an injury? No, of course not, but the pain was still real. It needed somewhere to manifest and it chose to make John limp, to make everyone see that he hurt deeply, even if he wasn’t aware of it. But with time it would be better. All of this would be better.

At night, when they were close and kissing and James tipped his head just right to hint at more John started to reciprocate. Then one moan from James’ pale throat and John would curl into himself and shake his head, cover his ears and whisper out pleas for the hands to go away.

James would hold him instead. Whisper out that it was alright and John would get so frustrated, and so angry with himself for being so weak. The first few times he jerked from his arms and faced away while hot tears slipped down his cheeks and James retreated to the other side of the bed, curled into himself so much he couldn’t feel his warmth. John had felt the bed shake with his love’s cries and his heart twisted so hard but he wasn’t strong enough to comfort him.

It was getting better, though. The anger was gone and now he just dissolved into sobs and apologized, told James to leave him and find someone else but no matter how he protested James assured him over and over he didn’t want anyone else but him. Never in his life could he want anyone but the young blacksmith with the cornflower colored eyes and the honeysuckle flavored lips.

Neither of them had had a decent night’s sleep in weeks, tossing and turning, not being able to close their eyes until dawn, crying through the night, weighed with guilt or pain. It was hell.

But little by little, just like in the gardens, John relaxed. Not enough to be taken entirely, but enough to feel James’ skin and kiss his flesh and know him again. Remember the planes of his soft skin, caress him with his mouth and praise him like a king should be praised.

James had been so gentle with him, and patient, kissing tenderly and carefully, never putting his hands where they weren’t wanted, asking with each caress given. He kissed his scars and told him how beautiful he was…

Time.

All they needed was time.

~*~

“A ball?”

John nodded, cane against the wall where it had remained for a few weeks now. “Yeah,” he smiled. “War’s won, battles are over and we’re..well, we’re getting married soon so it only seemed... I dunno, fitting?”

“But I...I don’t know, John. I haven’t had anyone here in…” He shook his head, swallowing. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea.”

“My king,” John said softly, taking his face in his callused hands. “I know I’m young, I know that I am naive to a lot of things, but I do know that this? This will be good for you. Sherlock can’t do anything this time, and if he tries? I’ll cut his head off myself.”

John’s fire was stronger now. Quicker to violence, quicker to threaten and lash out and most of the time he was so calm when he did it. James rather...enjoyed those little displays.

The king smiled. “I know you will, John. But I...I can’t be sure that people will be, will be safe.”

“Hey,” he said softly, taking his hands. “You can’t stay here in the dark forever. You’re a good king. And people may fear you, but there’s nothing to fear at all. You’re a benevolent, gentle man and everyone should be able to see that.”

“Everyone?!”

“Okay, not everyone but at least some nobles or something.”

James sighed, regarding his young beloved a moment.

“Will it make you happy?”

“The ball? Yes. Yes, it will.”

The king grazed his fingers along his cheek. “Then what choice do I have, my darling?”

John’s luminous smile burst from his face and he touched Jim’s arms. “Really?” James pushed his hand through all of his curls.

“I’ll summon the tailor to get you something to wear, my sweet.”

John laughed and hugged him close, holding the back of James’ dark head. “It’ll be alright. We’ll be there for each other, won’t we? If, if either of us need…”

James pressed a soft kiss to his temple, gently rubbing his back. “I’ll dance with you all night,” he whispered. Just you and I and the magic of it all. Nothing else will exist.”

The blacksmith grinned at his king and nodded. “Yes, your grace. There is, um, one problem.”

“What’s that?” He asked, cocking his head, brows knitting.

John looked at him sheepishly. “I, uh, I don’t know how to dance.”

Jim laughed.

~*~

The lessons worked wonders, and John was still counting steps when he could hear the hall below thrumming with life. The sounds of tinkling glass, laughter, music, the glorious food…

He righted the gorgeous blue and white suit fit him beautifully, the fabrics richer and softer than anything he’d ever witnessed before. James looked just as exquisite if not more. The blood red and black lace, the silver crown on his head, he was more than regal he was godly. John looked at him through the mirror in front of him, smiling when the king’s arms engulfed him.

“Radiant,” he whispered. “Absolutely radiant.”

John blushed. “And what does that make you?”

“That makes me the arm candy of the most beautiful man in the entire kingdom,” he chuckled.

“You’re the king!”

“And you’re the whole world.”

They were introduced to the room, took to the dance floor and began alone, John still counting in his head while they whirled this way and that.

“Don’t think so much,” James urged, watching the lights glisten off John’s golden hair. Other people took the floor around them when James summoned them and John relaxed a little, some of the pressure gone. “Just dance with me, my darling.”

And dance they did, swirling around the floor. He dipped and spun John through the air by his waist, peppered his neck with kisses and oh how they laughed.

John’s scars didn’t matter anymore. James’ fears disappearing. This was a celebration of life. Of their whole life together from here on out.

Nobles gushed to them, asking when their wedding would be, where they met, if this was going to happen more often and it was wonderful.

James wasn’t too uncomfortable, assuring all who spoke to him their lands were safe, their debts would be forgiven after this war’s bounty and their servants should expect the same. All would be well, all would be alright and when the next war arose he would carry on as before.

Wine on their lips, they danced until everyone had gone, even the musicians had been dismissed and still they twirled about, giggling with each other drunkenly in the starlight filtering through the tall, tall glass window.

“I love you!” James exclaimed, kissing all over his face. “Better or worse, scars, limp, curls, what have you! I love you!”

John laughed, too drunk to take any offense. “And I love you! Fucked childhood, shit attitude and horrible social skills!”

Again they giggled, falling on top of each other on the marble floor. John looked up at him, dazed and reeking of grapes and sweat and James was much the same, crown skittered across the floor long ago.

“Marry me?” John breathed, grinning wide. James giggled and pressed a sloppy kiss to his lips.

“Only if you promise to fuck me right here at least once a month.”

John beamed and leaned up, kissing him gently. “Mmn...I promise,” he whispered, popping his shirt open.

“Then yes,” James breathed, pulling John close as the boy sucked at the salty bared skin of his chest. “Oh, god, yes, my little blacksmith, I’ll marry you. I’ll marry you a hundred times if it means I get to keep you.”

John slid his lips to his ear, biting his earlobe. “I am yours. Forever and always my heart and body are yours, your majesty.”

James smiled and looked at him, cupping his cheek.

“This is what happiness is, isn’t it?”

John smiled, the last candle in the chandelier burning out and leaving them bathed in the moonlight.

“No,” he breathed, kissing him very, very softly. “This is what heaven feels like.”

They lost themselves in each other, in the sweat, in the stimulation, the glorious and gorgeous way they called for each other in the vast room. They lost themselves entirely in this bliss. In the heaven they had found in each other from their respective hells.

 


End file.
